distant stars come in black or red
by chininiris
Summary: Compilation of sheith one-shots. i. drown me in your water: the IGF-Atlas is a big ship full of rooms for some alone time.


I was actually going to update something else, but I had some support to finally publish this so - thanks! Smut isn't really something I know how to write. This first piece has been collecting dust in my google docs, but it was practice based on a piece by hchano that I stared at for far too long when it came out.

Compilation title comes from Broken by Gorillaz, which is my fav song by them. Chapter title is from Lucky Strike by Troye Sivan, which is another great song I love.

This chapter contains: handjob, ass eating, intercrural sex.

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 **drown me in your water**

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The IGF-Atlas is a ship that lives up to its name, easily bigger than the Castle of Lions, full of crooks and nooks and rooms Shiro can hardly keep track of. Every day he finds an uncharted place, the ship's original layout having changed after its first transformation, and he half expects it to never settle for one floor plan.

All these hidden places come in handy, though, when he and Keith can barely keep their hands to themselves. Sometimes they make it to their room, and sometimes they have been so busy with missions and diplomatic meetings that they hardly have time to sleep, let alone spend some quality time together. So Shiro doesn't really complain as they stumble through the hallways in the quiet of the ship's night cycle, fingers fumbling and clutching what they can find, lips only parting for an intake of breath.

He's already forgotten all the plans they came up with and decisions they reached in the meeting with the rest of the crew, but he trusts that someone has them all jotted down for later. Iverson will probably be exasperated, but he's the last concern in Shiro's mind, and he forgets the man even exists when Keith catches his bottom lip between his teeth and tugs.

It's a conscious effort to move a hand away from Keith's warm, firm body pressed against his own, but Shiro manages it somehow, slapping the wall beside his partner's head to get the door to slide open with a _woosh_. They trip their way inside, barely registering that the door closes once again, and Keith uses the opportunity to flip them around and walk him backwards towards the wall. Of course Shiro doesn't complain, and even hums appreciatively when Keith's fingers dig into his sides.

He likes it. Even though Keith had grown some inches in the two years he lived stranded on the back of a space whale, he's still smaller than Shiro, but his presence is demanding and insistent enough to make his head spin - or maybe that's the lack of air in his lungs. Shiro pulls away with a gasp, manages to catch a breath before it's taken away from him in a moan when Keith latches his lips onto his jawline, urgent and hot, trying to close the distance between them.

Shiro guides Keith's red and slick mouth to his with a hand curled around the hairs on the back of his head. Keith shivers pleasantly, inching his hands up Shiro's chest to wrestle with the buttons of his uniform, hips canting forward when Shiro slides his thigh between both of his. A breathy moan leaves him and Keith pulls back to look up at Shiro with dark, heated eyes, hands pulling the lapels of his uniform apart to run his fingers over firm pectorals, over cotton-clothed nipples that harden under his touch.

Keith's stare keeps him pinned there, full of promises, and Shiro would gladly lay his heart in offering by his feet like Keith were a god if it meant they'd come true. He is tempted to get rid of every piece and barrier between them, but they won't get very far unprepared as they are. As if sensing that his thoughts have strayed for a split second, Keith surges forward, recapturing his lips and erasing every little thing from Shiro's mind that isn't him, his tongue and touch and body heat.

The new prosthesis sweeps downwards, following the beautiful arc of Keith's spine to settle on his ass, squeezing firmly and making his breath stutter. Keith's lips move against his own, not in a kiss, but in an attempt to talk, though no words leave him in his first tries, only breathless gasps that Shiro swallows greedily.

"Sh- Shiro..." His voice is so hoarse it makes Shiro's skin prickle with goosebumps, lips falling open as he struggles to part his eyelids and look at Keith's hypnotizing blue gaze. "Turn... Turn around, please…"

He licks his lips, more blood rushing south at the request. Shiro manages a nod and turns around ungracefully, catching his weight against the wall with his hands. A noise comes from Keith, and before Shiro can ask if he's okay, eager hands are wandering Shiro's broad chest again, mapping every ridge and defined muscle, tracing over scars earned in battle. Shiro bites his lips, whining softly as Keith switches between nibbles and open mouthed kisses to the nape of his neck.

Anticipation builds as Keith's hands travel downwards, takes hold of Shiro's hips and grinds his own hardness against his backside, mouthing at his still clothed back, the whispers of Shiro's name breaking in gasps and hitched moans. Shiro shifts his weight every few seconds, angling his hips, impatient for more touch and friction. Finally, he's rewarded, fingers brushing over the bulge of his inner thigh and the bulge in his pants before Keith goes for the button and zipper, opening them with some kind of controlled urgency Shiro's come to associate with him.

"K-Keith," Shiro had something to say, but it all scatters to the wind when Keith's hand slip under his underwear, the coarse fabric of his gloves making him jolt as pleasure shoots up his spine.

He covers his mouth with his prosthetic to silence the noises he's making, the fingers of his other hand curling inwards, nails digging into his palms to leave crescent marks. Keith strokes him deliberately, grip firm the way he knows Shiro likes, lips still exploring his neck, pausing only to whisper praises. _Beautiful, so beautiful. Beautiful and-_

"Mine." Keith barely sounds coherent, and Shiro shivers helplessly, arching his back when Keith tugs the collar of his shirt away to run his hot, wet tongue on his overheated skin. "You're mine."

It's all the warning Shiro gets before Keith bites his neck, a sharpness to it that indicates he's losing his senses. If he were to look back now, he'd see narrow irises and pointed canines, features he sees in wet and wild dreams, and the nightmares that revolve around their fight in that cloning facility. Shiro chokes on a cry, bites down on metal when Keith gives him a hard tug that nearly makes him come undone.

"Please..." he asks - begs, really. For what, he doesn't know, but trusts that Keith will give him exactly what he wants somehow.

He isn't disappointed, nor is he left hanging as Keith works his pants further down his legs, kissing all the way down his back and thighs as Shiro kicks away his shoes and pants. Keith's teeth graze his flesh, bites the swell of his ass as his thumb ventures into Shiro's cleft, teasing the puckered skin, making him weak in the knees.

Keith's tongue replaces his thumb, every upward sweep and suckle drawing a noise from Shiro, the strong hands on his hips the only thing keeping the captain on his feet. Shiro rests his cheek on the wall, its coolness doing wonders to his burning cheeks as it feels like a fire is consuming his body from the inside. And Keith - Keith eats him like he's a starving man, relentless, holding him in place tight enough to leave marks that Shiro will trace in front of the mirror and recall this moment until the bruises fade.

Through the haze clouding his mind, Shiro registers Keith's hands leaving him and the muted sound of a zipper. As the tongue so intimately touching him disappears, he blinks his unfocused eyes and looks over his shoulder at Keith, the sight of his flushed face and Galran features, but most specifically moist, kiss-swollen lips making a thrill travel down straight to his crotch. Keith's focus zeroes on his mouth, and soon Shiro is craning his neck to return the kiss, sloppy and messy and hungry, full of teeth and tongue.

Keith positions them, pulls Shiro back a couple of steps and forces him to bend with a firm hand between his shoulder blades. Shiro feels his partner's erection pushing into the tight space between his thighs, braces his weight against the wall with his elbows as Keith drapes himself on his back, settles a hand on his hip as the other returns to its place around Shiro. Keith's hips draw back, and Shiro gasps; they slam forward, and Shiro moans.

A steady pace builds from there, their moans and names ricocheting in the room, the air now stuffy and heavy with the smell of sweat and sex. Shiro's fringe is plastered to his forehead, and Keith licks and kisses every bead of sweat that travels down his neck. Their uniforms will need some thorough cleaning once they're done, and Shiro hopes they won't run into anyone on the way to their room, because he'll be utterly spent and flushed to pretend they were doing anything else.

Keith jerks him off in time with his thrusts, his other hand travelling up Shiro's side and chest, curling over his jaw and moving further still to slip two fingers into his mouth. Shiro moans around the intrusion, sucks on them, lets the fingers rest on his tongue as he parts his lips to pant, fighting to get air in his lungs. His body feels like a taut string close to snapping, so close to the edge, so close to the finish.

And Keith bites again, hard enough to leave a mark, hard enough that he won't be able to brush it off as a product of sparring, and Shiro comes, white exploding behind his eyelids as every ounce of frustration seeps away from his body - and Keith follows shortly after, teeth steadfast to sweat slicked skin, the wet warmth of his release trickling down Shiro's thighs.

His hand falls away from Shiro's mouth, leaving a path of drool in their wake, and Shiro relies on the wall to keep them both on their feet, Keith having gone boneless and pliant, still draped over his back. As their breathing and heartbeats slow down, Shiro gently nudges Keith away from his back before he can fall asleep.

They dress again, sluggish and uncoordinated. Shiro has just slipped his foot into his shoe when Keith slumps against him, loosely wraps his arms around Shiro's broad chest and tilts his head to kiss the underside of his chin. "Tired?" Shiro combs his fingers through dark, sweaty strands, and Keith nods sleepily, head now on his shoulder. "Let's clean up and then we can sleep, okay?"

"Okay." Keith lifts his head, struggles to keep his eyes open and smiles sweetly at him, and Shiro sweeps down to press an equally sweet kiss to his lips, pulling him out of the room by his hand.

The walk back to their room is uneventful. The shower too, until Shiro drops to his knees and takes Keith into his mouth, coaxing him to drown into pleasure again. Maybe he can't physically offer Keith his heart, but Shiro can worship him like a god.


End file.
